


The Interpretation of Dreams

by ignipes



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-22
Updated: 2006-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam can't always tell the difference between visions and regular nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interpretation of Dreams

"Sam, check it out, they were having a special on the supreme--"

Dean stopped just inside the motel door, pizza in one hand and six pack in the other. Sam was sitting at the table against the wall, and the room was dark except for the glow of the laptop casting a pale light on his face.

Sam looked up, startled, and slammed the laptop shut. "Oh. Hi."

Dean kicked the door shut and fumbled for the light switch. "What are you--"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" A grin spread across Dean's face. Sam was looking down at the table, but Dean could still see the flush on his cheeks. He dropped the pizza and beer on one of the beds and said, "Or should I be asking, 'What's up?'"

"Bite me. I was just--"

"Tempting as it is, no thanks." Dean edged a bit closer, moving slowly, but Sam was too busy scowling and sulking to even notice. "Hey, man, I get it. You wake up from your afternoon sprouting a little wood--"

"Dude. Shut up."

"--and it's been a while since you've had a woman's hands on you -- well, a woman who wasn't made of cockroaches and earthworms, that is..."

Dean paused for a moment, and they both shuddered at the memory.

"Anyway." Dean shook himself and went on, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. It's totally--"

"What the fuck is this, an after school special?" Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Dean, his eyes narrow, his face still red. He looked more like Dean had stolen his candy or killed his puppy or given him a clown doll than simply walked in just in time to interrupt a jerk-off session.

"And, seriously," Dean said, because even if it was no big deal, he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to mock Sam for it, "the shit you find on the internet is way better than those Victoria's Secret catalogues you used to steal from the neighbor's mailbox--"

"Only when you didn't get them first."

"--and lock yourself in the bathroom for an hour--"

"Only when you didn't get there first."

"--like we didn't know what you were doing--"

"Whatever." With a sigh, Sam pushed his chair back and stood up. "Like you can even--"

As soon as Sam was three steps away from the table, Dean launched himself into the chair with a triumphant cackle. He opened the laptop and waited for the image to appear on the screen; he knew Sam hadn't had time to close any windows before slamming the computer shut.

"What is this time? A little girl-on-girl sorority house action…"

Dean let his voice trail off as things started to register. A notepad of paper from a motel three states ago was beside the laptop, covered in Sam's block printing and messy sketches. _Clocks, white crow, silver coin,_ a nonsense list of words and drawings in a list down the page. Dad's journal was open underneath it. And the web page open on the screen didn't have pictures of hot, olive-skinned beauties twined together under a flashing invitation to enjoy the video. It was, instead, an incredibly dull page, all text with big words and references and no pictures. Dean scrolled up to the top: _Death Omens and Signs._

They weren't on a case. There wasn't anything they were supposed to be researching; after the earthworm-and-cockroach chick they'd both decided they needed a few days off. Dean looked up at Sam, eyebrows raised in question. Sam was still glaring at him, but there was more to his expression than annoyance and embarrassment. Worry, maybe even fear.

"What is this?" Dean asked, all of his amusement draining away.

"Noth--"

"Death omens?" Dean tried to smile, make a joke out of it, even though it was about the least funny thing he could think of. "You been seeing talking crows around here lately?"

Sam paced a few steps back and forth at the foot of the beds, and for a moment Dean thought he wasn't going to answer, thought he was going to shut down and refuse to explain.

But Sam sighed again and sat on the edge of the bed. "I had a dream. Just now, this afternoon."

"You mean a..." A cold knot grew in Dean's gut. Fuck. _Fuck_. Just a few days off, that's all he wanted, just a few days to hang out and chill and rest, but Sam's fucking brain had to go and dream and now they weren't even allowed to have that. "A vision?"

"No. I don't think so." Sam shook his head. "It seemed like a regular dream, but..."

"But? What's with all this?" Dean waved his hand at the computer and notes. "Death omens, Sam? That's pretty fucked up for a regular dream."

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean, I don't know, okay? I can usually tell the difference between regular dreams and -- and the _other_ dreams, but sometimes..." Sam shrugged, and he sounded so tired that Dean almost regretted asking. "Even regular dreams -- I'm just not sure it's always one of the other, you know? Maybe they get mixed up sometimes. I don't know. I thought that if there's some meaning... I just thought if I could..."

Write it down, do the research, figure it out. That was Sam's way of dealing with everything from what to have for breakfast on a particular morning to how to defeat an entire army of hungry ghouls.

"Okay," Dean said slowly. He had a better chance of teaching the Impala to fly than he did of convincing Sam to give it up and think about something else, so he figured it was easier to join him than to fight him. "So what happened in your dream?" He picked up Sam's notes and began reading through the list, but Sam snatched it away quickly.

Not quick enough, though. Just before Sam's giant hand grabbed the paper, Dean saw the word at the bottom of the sheet, underlined and circled just in case it wasn't obvious enough: _Dean??_

Dean leaned back in the chair. _Visions about strangers are bad enough,_ Sam had said, midnight on an empty road, as they were heading out of Michigan as fast as the wheels would carry them. He hadn't finished the thought, and Dean hadn't asked. Neither of them needed to. _Watching you die, watching you die, watching you die--_ The unspoken words had echoed between them, under the scent of gunpowder and the sound of a single shot ringing in his ears -- _fucking idiot, bringing a gun to a psychic fight_ \-- and Dean had been a breath away from telling Sam to shut up, leave it, forget about it, never mention it again.

"Death omens?" He was starting to feel like a broken record, but this wasn't exactly the kind of conversation he was good at. "And I was the one who..."

"Dean, look, I don't even know--"

"I mean," Dean interrupted swiftly, before Sam's face could settle into that earnest, apologetic look he hated to see directed at him, "there were no naked chicks at all in this dream? Dude, that sucks. Internet lesbian porn is a way better way to spend your time."

"Yeah." Sam cracked a smile, tossed the notepad aside on the bed. "Tell me about it."

"So bring the pizza over here and get me a beer."

"Excuse me?"

"Your head is a freaky enough place as it is," Dean explained, picking up the pen and chewing on it thoughtfully. "If we're gonna go all New-Age woo-woo symbolism psychoanalytical bullshit on your dream, I'm sure as hell not going to do it on an empty stomach."

"You want to research it now?" The way Sam said it, it was like Dean had just suggested they set up a Slip-'n-Slide in the parking lot for some mid-January splashing around.

"You can get back to your porn later," Dean told him solemnly. "I'll even let you have first shower."

Sam rolled his eyes and stood up. "You are so funny, you know that? A laugh a minute, twenty-four seven."

Dean smiled. One of these days Sam was gonna roll his eyes so hard his head would fall off, but until then -- well, if he was annoyed rather than worried, if his gaze was amused rather than haunted, Dean knew he was doing something right.

It was probably just a stupid dream, anyway.


End file.
